


Outlier

by ashinan



Series: Sleep verse [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony prides himself on never being wrong, which means the solutions are correct, and how is he to handle that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outlier

**Author's Note:**

> Part four of the sleep verse gift set for [-lazarus](http://-lazarus.tumblr.com/)!

Tony is hiding in his workshop.

He knows it’s childish, knows that he’s acting like the spoiled brat Pepper always accuses him of, but he can’t deal right now. He can’t make the numbers stop when Steve’s around, the calculations crowding up his mind and making him slow and half-witted. All of his conclusions point to three solutions, and no matter how many times Tony reruns the equation, the sum is always the same.

Solution one: Tony Stark is irreversibly attracted to Steve Rogers. He wants things with Steve that he doesn’t quite understand, a number of domestic and simplistic activities that _don’t involve sex._ Not to say some of those notions _don’t_ involve sex because Tony very much _wants,_ especially with Steve, but it’s the fact that he wants other things besides sex that freaks him out. And really, Tony’s nearly seventy three percent sure he’s gone mad. And this attraction is bad, so bad, not something Tony can even entertain because _what_. Just, no.

Solution two: Tony Stark has, for the first time in his almost forty years of life, found somewhere he belongs and it is because of Steve Rogers. Too long he has spent living behind a mask, presenting the world an image that made _sense_ , that fit with the world’s idea of him. He’s acted out, created brilliant ideas, been outright promiscuous, and flirted with every known disaster on the planet. He’s hidden away that shy, needful part of himself that desperately craves attention and love and affection. It’s almost parasitic, but now, with Steve, it’s come out again. He can feel himself opening up and actually accepting the affection Steve doles out without repercussion.

And that, of course, leads to solution three: Tony Stark is in love with Steve Rogers.

The last solution is giving him hives because _seriously_ , no. He can’t be. But the numbers don’t lie and he prides himself on never being wrong, so solution three must be true and _how is he supposed to deal with that_. It’s outside his realm of possibility and Steve was supposed to just be an outlier, something of an anomaly that would eventually straighten himself out and lump himself in with every other sorry person that had been tangled up with Tony for too long.

Instead, Steve pushes into his space, shoves his way under Tony’s skin and behind his barriers and cuddles with the numbers and strokes the equations. It’s everything Tony wants and everything he needs but he knows, knows that it _can’t_.

Steve can’t love him. It’s not part of the solution.

The equations are mocking him now, throwing up possibilities and probabilities and other cute resolutions that pertain to solution three. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how his mind seems to be abandoning him in lieu of Steve Rogers and his adorable smile and ridiculously amazing everything.

Tony bites his lip, grabs up the schematics for the new generator SHIELD has requested and spreads them out on his worktable. His mind hums, eager to perfect and manipulate and _create_ something new, and all thoughts of Steve are shoved to the side.

He’s fiddling around with the final coil of copper, wondering if he can put together a new type of alloy that will allow a larger current of electricity when there’s a cough behind him. He jumps, startled, drops the coil and winces when it bounces and rolls under the generator.

“Oh! Sorry,” Steve says behind him and _damnit_ , Tony’s brain goes offline, reboots, and slaps him with solution three again. He grapples with the numbers for a few seconds before turning and plastering on a smile for Steve. Steve is knelt before him and there goes his brain again, leaving him with nothing to hold onto and he just stares down at Steve’s golden head, wondering what is happening and how he can possibly be living this torture right now.

“Got it.” Steve holds up the copper wire carefully between his thumb and forefinger, smiling brilliantly, and Tony hates himself, hates everything that he is and could be and would do to Steve if he even entertained the idea of them being together. Because, right this second, he can see their future together, something so clear and simple that it leaves him breathless. There are no numbers clamouring for attention, no schematics that he needs to pour over, no fights he has to be in. Just Steve and him, together, in the future.

He shakes away the image and takes the wire, ducking his head as he turns to carefully fit it into place. Once done, he looks everything over and wonders just how fast he can make an exit before Steve comes after him. His brain helpfully supplies a summation of thirty seven seconds and point two nanoseconds. He scowls.

“Tony? It’s after three. You should probably get some sleep,” Steve says, shifting behind him. Tony turns and looks up at him, biting at his cheek.

“Why do you always come find me?” he asks, honestly curious.

Steve flushes, and rubs a hand through his hair. “Well, someone needs to take care of you.”

The admission is small, something that anyone would say to a normal friend, but it hits Tony like a missile to the gut. He can’t breathe, his fingers scrambling to pull off his gloves and his goggles and he’s walking past Steve, choking on nothing. Steve follows after him, calling his name in increasingly worried tones and Tony doesn’t stop until he’s standing in the living room, fingers scrambling at his chest. He can’t _breathe_ and Steve moves in front of him, grabs his arms and calls his name again.

“You don’t need to take care of me,” Tony gasps, watching his hand curl in Steve’s t-shirt. His dog tags brush against Tony’s knuckles. “No one needs to take care of me.”

He’s seeing flashes of Obidiah and Rhodey and Vanko, of Yinsen and countless innocent civilians. He sees explosions and lights and everything he’s ever fucked up, the missiles and people dying. And there, over Steve’s shoulder, is the spectre, the haunting of his nightmares, water logged and carrying a car battery. He chokes, fights to gain control, can’t understand why he’s having this attack now. And the spectre is laughing at him, laughing at everything he has become and what he will eventually devolve into, and he can’t do anything to stop it. He can’t even see Steve until suddenly Steve gathers him close, arms tight around Tony’s waist and lips pressed against his temple.

And just like that, Tony’s mind stutters, falls silent, and the spectre vanishes like a figment of his imagination. He’s left with nothing to calculate or formulate or figure out. It reminds him of when Jarvis had been disconnected from the suit, when he was freefalling thousands of feet to the ground, metal and ice and air encasing him like a second skin. He breathes in, a familiar scent of leather polish and soap and finds his voice.

“Steve? What are you, I mean, I’m sure you have a logical explanation for this, because you always have those stored up somewhere in your head, and I don’t really want to break this moment because I have a feeling it is important but I can’t think straight right now so could you please, _please_ , say something?” Tony wants to pull away, wants to put some space between them, but the warmth and protection radiating from Steve reminds him of many nights spent curled up against Steve’s chest, listening to the staccato beat of his heart.

Steve tightens his hold. “I thought at first maybe I was the only one getting four, but then I realized perhaps you were making more elaborate equations up in your head and needed to understand that yes, two plus two can equal four, and you don’t need all that fancy mathematical nonsense to understand that.”

“Two plus two equals four. Okay. Got it.” Tony bites at his lip. “I’m glad we’ve established that connection, but that doesn’t explain your wanting to take care of me and the arms and the insomnia onset?”

Steve suddenly lets go of him, arms dropping so fast Tony almost feels vertigo. He catches his balance and stares up at Steve’s flushed face. Steve stutters, grabs at his hair and sighs.

“Okay, I realize my metaphors aren’t really perfect, but I wanted to confess using your jargon but then I realized I didn’t know anything mathematical except that simple little piece I just gave you. And I thought you would understand it and things would be going a lot, well, a lot differently.” Steve rubs at his face, his fingers catching on his nose before he sighs. “Tony, I don’t know how to do this without embarrassing myself further, so please, just know that you will always be worth taking care of.”

And just like that, Tony’s mind comes back online, filtering information and shredding Steve’s speech into tiny pieces and reconstructing it. And suddenly, he gets it. He understands. He can feel his lips stretch into an untested smile, knows he looks like he’s mad, and now he has the numbers to back up the notion. Steve just watches him, getting progressively redder, and obviously trying not to flee.

“You are one special snowflake,” Tony says, reaching for Steve. He touches his face, notes the slide of fourteen different muscles beneath his fingers, and the nearly indeterminable amount of expressions Steve could pull in this split second, and decides to hell with it. He presses their lips together, shutting off that part of his brain that wants to know _everything_ and let’s himself enjoy.

There is still a seventy two percent chance Tony is crazy, but, with Steve being an outlier that is defying the obvious parameters that outline his trajectory, he can live with such odds. He hums, pulls Steve closer, and lets the numbers run.


End file.
